Interlude [h.s]

eighty-nine

"You must be kidding me."

Alouette stares Harry down. He looks more threatening than usual in the odd light from the thunderstorm outside, but she's not going to let him scare her away. She's standing in front of the door to his rooms, her arms spread to block his way. "Does it look like I'm playing to you?"

A fleeting look of dismay passes through his eyes, but he schools his features back that neutral, mildly amused look of his so quickly that she's left to wonder if there ever was something different on his face at all. "I'm going to work." It's a simple, matter-of-fact statement. It makes Alouette want to move aside just to please him. Unfortunately for him, it also makes it all the more satisfying to disobey.

He should know better by now, Alouette thinks. Then, out loud, "No, you're not."

Harry takes a step forward. Alouette's hand shoots up to rest against his chest. The fabric of his black vest is unexpectedly soft under her fingers. It's elating to stand up to him while he's wearing a suit—it's impossible to forget who she's disobeying. It makes her feel more powerful. And, maybe, after the past couple of weeks, she wants to push him around a little just to see how far her influence over him goes. He made a great show of minimising it, but yesterday has made her realise she might still have some unplayed cards in her hand.

She looks up at him, gives him a smile and whispers, "You're not."

Part of her expects him to back down, but he rises to the challenge. "Neither Evie nor the doctor hold any power over me."

"That's why they're not here." Her fingers travel down his chest, to his stomach. It's her first time shamelessly staring at him with no fear of being caught by someone else since they got back to the Palace. She can't help but think he looks cute—her lead soldier, her apparition stepped out of a picture frame.

That earns her a moment of silence. The evaluating look is back on Harry's face. What a sight. He looks like trouble. "Do you truly intend to play this game?" There's a dark edge in his voice, now. Even the sky on the other side of the window seems darker.

The path of Alouette's hand stops. "I lied to you, held you at gunpoint multiple times, had you at my mercy for months. Do you truly think it's beyond me to defy you?"

Harry cocks his head. "This is... surprising," he admits through his teeth. "You're getting braver."

Her hand slides up again, and she hooks her finger around the first button of his vest, gently tugging him towards her. Her pull isn't strong enough to move him but he still follows, in an attempt to save the silver button from snapping off. "Maybe you're getting soft."

Harry looks at her, and she's suddenly all too aware of just how close he's standing to her, now. Pulling him closer wasn't her best idea. Her attraction to him is a simple matter of mathematics—it exponentially rises as the distance between them decreases. The derivative of this moment in time is the slope to her own demise, which gets steeper the closer he gets. Alouette is balancing on a thin thread woven from her own emotions and there's a precipice straight to the depths of hell at her back, and she's just a step away from falling fast below the zero. Harry could save her, ideally, but she has the distinct sensation clinging to him would do nothing but offer her a ticket to the scenic route to the exact same destination.

Harry's voice interrupts the train of her thoughts that's happily whistling away before it reaches the land of utter nonsense. "Or maybe you're getting arrogant."

Alouette laughs. "Pot, meet kettle."

He narrows his eyes. "You are getting arrogant. Where has your good behaviour gone?"